


Of Grave Importance

by Aenova



Series: The Sweetest Treasure [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Graveyard Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Public Sex, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenova/pseuds/Aenova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty was standing right next to him, merely two metres apart, eyeing at him with a curious look in his dark eyes and bringing a cigarette to his lips to take a drag out of it. He was dressed in suit trousers and a button-up shirt, like Sherlock, and it was almost absurd to see him without the neat jacket and a tie.</p>
<p>It felt like the oppressive summer heat had suddenly disappeared, leaving only the cold feelings of confusion and fear. His eyes widened slightly, breath almost hitching in his throat as he continued staring at the man like he'd never seen him before.</p>
<p>"Surprise", Jim said with a sing-song tone and let his lips curve to his signature smirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Grave Importance

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the wonderful creators of BBC's Sherlock, I own nothing and I don't profit for writing this, it's purely for my own amusement. :)
> 
> I'm very sorry for any mistakes you might notice, English is not my first language and I was very tired when I wrote this. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it! :)

Sherlock didn't like to _hope_ for things to happen. He didn't like to waste his time on such useless tosh, to _dream_ about anything. Still, he liked to have small moments which included dreaming - tiny, short parts of his days when he hoped he would've never revealed himself to be alive.

 

Everything had been easy when he'd supposedly been dead. So much easier than now. John had gone and gotten married, leaving Sherlock to boredom and loneliness. It had been peaceful before, quiet - everything he hated in one, and yet he had liked it, possibly better than being officially alive. Nothing helped him anymore. There were no exciting cases, and when there were, he had to solve them alone. _Boring._ So boring that he'd descended to doing drugs once again.

 

The heat of the summer day had increased to the level of intolerable. The sun was brightly burning on the sky with no signs of clouds or rain whatsoever, leaving behind nothing but the obnoxious, oppressive warmth which slowly wormed its way to every single little corner of London City.

 

Sherlock had abandoned his coat long ago, surrendering to the weather and wearing only white button-up shirts, of which he left the uppermost buttons open to let the rare, arbitrary breezes of wind cool him down.

 

A frown was decorating his face as he stood in the middle of a graveyard, staring at the familiar black headstone with his own name engraved to it in golden letters. Nobody had bothered to remove it, not even when it had been almost a year since his returning. He, however, saw it as a good opportunity to waste his time and only stare at the ominous piece of granite once in a while, reminiscing how his life had been when almost everyone had thought he was actually laying below the grass.

 

His latest high was wearing down as he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to repel the heat that was encasing his body, to escape to his mind palace and pretend that he'd never let others know he was still alive.

 

A faint scent of cigarettes spread around him and he furrowed his eyebrows, inhaling deeply. No-one ever visited the graves, as far as he'd noticed. It was a small cemetery, usually crowded only during holidays when families gathered around a single headstone, mourning the loss of their loved ones. Sherlock had never really understood it.

 

The scent became stronger and Sherlock was able to filter the quiet sound of shoes hitting the grass. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the direction, instantly freezing.

 

James Moriarty was standing right next to him, merely two metres apart, eyeing at him with a curious look in his dark eyes and bringing a cigarette to his lips to take a drag out of it. He was dressed in suit trousers and a button-up shirt, like Sherlock, and it was almost absurd to see him without the neat jacket and a tie.

 

It felt like the oppressive summer heat had suddenly disappeared, leaving only the cold feelings of confusion and fear. His eyes widened slightly, breath almost hitching in his throat as he continued staring at the man like he'd never seen him before.

 

"Surprise", Jim said with a sing-song tone and let his lips curve to his signature smirk.

 

It took a few seconds for the sleuth to gather himself and let his brain function once again, getting over the shock. "I would've expected a more theatrical comeback", he mused and raised an eyebrow. "I'm almost disappointed."

 

"Yes, almost", Jim answered and took another drag of his cigarette, stepping closer to Sherlock and gazing around him on the empty graveyard. "Isn't this a bit egoistic? Seeing your own grave?"

 

"Perhaps. Why are _you_ here, seeing my grave?" Sherlock questioned, following the motion of Jim's left hand when the criminal slid it to his trouser pocket. He looked back to the man's face in time to see the smirk widening.

 

"I'm not here to see your grave, darling, I'm here to see you", he said, "in the flesh."

 

Sherlock let the silence settle between them and only observed as Jim threw away his cigarette and stepped on it, extinguishing it against the grass. The man turned to look at Sherlock and stepped yet closer, making the detective feel slightly uncomfortable for the small distance.

 

"Oh, what a shame, honey", Jim then commented and frowned, gazing closely at every detail of Sherlock's face. "I didn't think you'd flop down so quickly." He clicked his tongue and shook his head, letting his lips curve again. "Did you miss me?" he purred, the words sliding off his tongue like silk.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why would I have?"

 

"I missed you", the criminal said and his eyes had an impish glimmer in them. " _So_ much, dear. It's really boring when you don't have anyone to play with. But, then again, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

 

Sherlock didn't answer and only glared as Jim took another step forward, lifting his hand and, with an amused chuckle, walked his fingers up the sleuth's chest until he reached the point where the white shirt dispersed and revealed pale skin. His fingers stopped for a moment and he smirked, glancing at Sherlock's eyes before grabbing one button and pushing it so that it opened, exposing more skin.

 

Sherlock blinked, refusing to show the surprise on his face. "What are you doing?" he asked calmly, making the other man smirk even wider.

 

"I'm relishing your company, darling", Jim answered and opened another button. "It's been _so_ long. We should definetely celebrate. The game can continue. You have no idea how long I've waited for this", he hummed.

 

"Undressing me at a graveyard?" Sherlock said and quirked an eyebrow.

 

"Certainly."

 

A third button opened and Sherlock was beginning to feel slightly exposed, half of his chest visible to his greatest enemy. When Jim's hand lowered once more to the next button, Sherlock quickly grabbed the man's wrist to an iron grip and stared tightly into his eyes.

 

Jim chuckled. "Now, now, don't ruin my fun, Sherly", he said and made a fake pouting face. "Trust me, it's also gonna become your fun _very_ soon." The criminal ran his tongue along his lower lip and Sherlock's gaze visited the motion quickly before returning to the man's eyes.

 

"What do you want, Moriarty?" he asked, voice almost like a snarl, and squeezed the wrist inside his grip a bit harder.

 

Jim shook his head and traced his fingertips gently against the strip of bare skin beneath the detective's shirt. "Call me Jim, please", he smirked. "And to answer your question..." the criminal brought his other hand to Sherlock's neck, running it all the way to the unruly curls. Their eyes met and Jim suddenly gripped the sleuth's hair forcefully, bringing the man close enough for their chests collide, their hands still in their previous positions against Sherlock's stomach. "We could start with you on your knees", Jim growled.

 

Sherlock hummed and stared down into the dark eyes. "I didn't expect you to crave something so ordinary, _Jim_ ", he answered.

 

"Yes, you did", the criminal smirked. "You never mentioned it because you knew I could use your similar cravings against you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not showing any kind of emotion on his face. Even if Jim's words were precisely correct, he doubted it'd be nearly as interesting if he just offered himself. "How about you get on your knees then, honey? I'll be gentle, I promise - I know how frightening the thought of losing your virginity can be", Jim said and chuckled.

 

"Don't bore me, both of us know it means nothing to me", Sherlock scoffed. "You just like to think it does, so you can feel victorious for taking it from me."

 

"Yes, I rather adore the idea of being your first", the criminal smiled. He pulled his hand away from Sherlock's grip and continued unbuttoning the sleuth's shirt, this time without any resistance. Sherlock was intrigued, as he was with everything Moriarty did. The criminal mastermind was a mystery to him, a puzzle that he would've loved to solve, though he knew it would likely be impossible.

 

When Sherlock's shirt was open, Jim let his eyes slowly devour the exposed skin. Sherlock could see the hunger in the other man's eyes, now, and it made him swallow uncomfortably.

 

"You're just as beautiful as I thought you would be", the shorter man commented with a content curve of his lips. "Now, sexy, if you don't mind - on your knees."

 

Sherlock stared at Jim for a while, considering it. Whether to comply or refuse. Jim turned his gaze to stare back into the detective's eyes and raised an eyebrow, clearly forwarding the challenge to Sherlock.

 

He dropped to his knees, never letting his gaze stray from the other man's eyes. Jim smirked widely and pet the sleuth's dark hair. "Do you know what to do, or will I have to guide you?" he asked and Sherlock scoffed, instantly taking his hands to open Jim's trousers, feeling the man's erection against his palm.

 

Jim watched closely as Sherlock pulled the man's cock out of the trousers, holding it for a second before leaning forward and letting the erection slide to his mouth.

 

He heard the criminal's content groan and closed his eyes as he accustomed to the feeling of having someone's penis inside his mouth. He moved his tongue against it, listening carefully to Jim's reactions, feeling the grip on his hair tighten a bit. An absurd string of profanities slid off of the criminal's lips as Sherlock began to suck, feeling the other man's gaze on him the whole time, knowing that Jim would want to watch every single second of it.

 

Sherlock let his grip of the erection go, bringing his both hands to the man's hips and using only his mouth, noting that him not having a gag reflex did have its benefits. Jim almost ripped the sleuth's hair off as Sherlock swallowed once around him.

 

"That's enough", Jim said and chuckled breathlessly, pulling Sherlock off. The detective gazed up and waited for the next move, licking his swollen lips and tasting Jim on them. The criminal kneeled down, too, pushing Sherlock to his back on the grass and moving on top of the man, pinning him against the ground.

 

Sherlock noticed himself getting more and more uncomfortable, his trousers getting tighter as Jim bent downwards to press their lips together, starting an almost vicious kiss which involved tongue and biting to the point where Sherlock tasted blood in his mouth and noticed his hands had gripped the back of Jim's shirt in an attempt to pull him closer.

 

"Getting eager, are we, sexy?" Jim purred and smirked against Sherlock's lips.

 

"Shut up", the detective hissed, pushing the other man roughly so that they switched places, Sherlock straddling Jim's hips. The criminal raised his eyebrows and his smirk widened as the detective reached down to continue their kiss. Jim lifted his hips, grinding their erections together and hearing a pleasing whimper muffle against his lips.

 

Sherlock felt like the heat of Jim's body and the heat surrounding them was suffocating him, making him pant and gasp as the criminal switched their places again, this time opening Sherlock's trousers and pushing them down. Jim pulled away from the kiss to look into Sherlock's eyes with is own pupils dilated, _lust_ and _animal_ written on his face. He grabbed Sherlock's cock, making the sleuth's breath hitch in his throat and a pathetic noise escape his lips. He grew even louder as Jim began to slowly move his hand and pressed his lips on Sherlock's neck, sucking dark bruises to the skin, marking him.

 

"Would you like me to fuck you, Sherlock?" Jim breathed against the sensitive skin, making Sherlock shiver and a moan rip from the back of his throat.

 

"Yes", he growled, knowing that it wouldn't be all that easy.

 

"Ask me nicely, and maybe I will", Jim smirked, lips curving against Sherlock's neck as he sunk his teeth to the flesh and squeezed the sleuth's erection in his hand a bit tighter.

 

"I'm not going to beg", Sherlock said. His voice was quivering and broken, and suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore. The criminal chuckled, the low sound sending vibrations across Sherlock's neck. He moved so that he could look deep into the detective's eyes and raised an eyebrow.

 

"Yes, you are", he cooed. "You've been bad, Sherlock, and Daddy's not gonna give you anything if you don't ask nicely. It would be rewarding you for your _naughty_ behaviour."

 

"My behav- _oh_ ", Sherlock breathed and bit his lip as Jim twisted his wrist in a way that had his hips buck forward, wanting - no, _needing_ more. "The drugs", he snarled and thrusted his hips upwards to get more friction. Jim smirked and his eyes were darker than ever before.

 

"You'll never touch them again, Sherlock", the criminal growled with a suddenly furious tone, an animalistic glimmer spreading in his eyes. " _Never_."

 

The possessive tone in Jim's voice surprised Sherlock, making his erection throb and eyesight blur from want - he'd never felt anything like this before, and he didn't care if it was Jim Moriarty who he was looking at. All he cared was that it would _not_ stop.

 

"I won't", he growled. "Get on with it, now."

 

The look in Jim's eyes changed and he smirked again. "What did I say about asking nicely, love?"

 

Sherlock almost whined with impatience and eagerness, grabbing Jim's hair and bringing their faces closer, staring into the dark eyes and panted against the criminal's mouth. "Fuck me, Jim", he breathed, "please."

 

Jim groaned and slammed their lips together, kissing Sherlock thoroughly and furiously and at the same time ripping the detective's trousers off completely.

 

Sherlock's mind quickly visited the fact that they were on a graveyard, at _his_ gravestone, where anyone could've seen them, but the thought was driven away by a finger that slowly pushed inside him.

 

He whimpered against Jim's lips and tried to make his body adjust to the sudden penetration. It was a weird feeling, though pleasing, especially when the criminal's finger brushed against his prostate, making him jump and a desperate, broken cry escape his lips. Jim pulled away from the kiss to hear him better, adding another finger with surprisingly gentle movements, giving Sherlock enough time to adjust.

 

Sherlock gave a loud groan when the third finger moved inside him, Jim's eyes were raking his face the whole time, watching the reactions and listening to the almost embarrassingly loud sounds Sherlock was making. The sleuth tightened his grip on the other man's hair and pushed his hips against the erection above him, messaging that he was more than ready.

 

Jim pulled his fingers away and laughed breathlessly as he replaced them with his cock, slowly pushing inside the detective, savouring the gasps he heard. "I'll have to think of a new pet name for you, honey", he panted, suddenly slamming all the way into the other man's arse, making Sherlock almost howl at the feeling and grip Jim's hips in a desperate need to grip something, anything.

 

Sherlock was far beyond the point where he could've come up with a sharp answer to the criminal's comment. All of his senses were blurring and centering on the euphoric feeling which came from Jim's erection, now pulling almost completely out before driving back inside, brushing his prostate on the way.

 

Jim was panting and occasionally let out a groan as he picked up the pace, clawing at the grass and dirt beneath his fingers. Neither of them cared that their clothes were inevitably ruined and that anyone could see what they'd been doing when they'd walk away.

 

Sherlock winced as Jim pulled away and turned him around, making Sherlock kneel and lean against his headstone. The criminal thrust back inside him, grabbing Sherlock's erection and dug his teeth on the man's neck. Sherlock moaned and closed his eyes, letting Jim thrust inside him in an almost savage way, whimpers and groans uncontrollably pouring from the detective's mouth.

 

Suddenly everything else disappeared - Sherlock couldn't breathe, think or see as a shockwave of pleasure hit him, streaming over him. He was distantly aware of his sperm spreading all over his own name, Jim's movements becoming more and more erratic and then stopping altogether.

 

Sherlock panted, leaning weakly against the tombstone in front of him and listening to the criminal's slowly steadying breaths. His body felt tired, and although he would've liked to stay in their current position for just a moment longer to gather energy, he cringed at the feeling of Jim's sperm running along his thighs, making his eyebrows furrow.

 

Jim noticed the slightly uncomfortable twitching and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of Sherlock's neck before standing up and pulling his trousers back on before turning to watch the detective dress up. He chuckled at the state of the other man; messy hair, clothes in disarray and dirty, lips swollen and neck bruised. Sherlock scowled at him and buttoned his shirt up silently.

 

"Why did you come here?" the sleuth asked. "Why give yourself away?"

 

"Why not? Three years without you was harder than I expected", Jim smirked.

 

"I could have you arrested", Sherlock noted, though both of them knew he never would. Jim only shook his head and took a pack of cigarettes out of his trouser pocket, lighting one up.

 

"Would you like one?" he asked, offering the pack to the other man. Sherlock glared for a while before accepting and letting Jim light the cigarette for him, the familiar and pleasing scent of smoke spreading between them. Sherlock inhaled the nicotine, closing his eyes for a while before looking at the criminal again.

 

"Why does it concern you that I'm doing drugs again?" he questioned, frowning. "As far as I can remember, you were determined to destroy me."

 

Jim made a shocked face, much similar to the mockering surprise he'd faked at the pool. "I'm almost hurt, Sherly", he said. "I came back from the dead to make sure you were alright", he smirked and took a drag of his smoke, shedding some of the ash to the grass, "so please do discard those drugs, if you will."

 

Sherlock didn't answer, only stared at the other man, trying to read those dark eyes - unsuccessfully, like always.

 

"Well, I'd better be off", Jim sighed and tilted his head slightly as he gazed at Sherlock closely, letting his lips curve again. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock."

 

The detective didn't say anything and only watched as Jim walked away, his eyebrows furrowing as his thoughts began to race inside his head. When he couldn't see the other man anymore, he let his eyes wander to the gravestone, a slight blush creeping to his face as he saw the remnants of semen across the golden engraving.

 

He took his last drag of the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, lips curving to a small smirk. He wouldn't need drugs anymore. Why would he? His smirk widened and silent laughter escaped his lips. The game was back on.

 


End file.
